


Love is not a Competition

by eyeless_soul



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeless_soul/pseuds/eyeless_soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock thinks that he had to compete for John's attention. John thinks that Sherlock is high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elemental_sorceress1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elemental_sorceress1/gifts).



John knew that Sherlock was by just his nature a very odd man. At first the way that Sherlock stared at him, John just figured Sherlock was being—well, Sherlock. John wasn't quite sure how Sherlock did it; but he couldn't do it. He couldn't stay cooped up in the apartment all day. He needed social interaction , so when Sara asked if he wanted to join her and a couple other colleagues out for coffee he'd all but jumped at the chance.

 

He had mentioned the invitation to Sherlock, because he was almost a hundred percent sure that the man wasn't listening. As soon as the last word left his mouth, he'd known that his original assumption that he hadn't been listening was incorrect.

 

Sherlock opened his eyes, peering over his steepled fingers to look at John. “So Sara wins again, does she?”

 

John turned so that he was looking right at Sherlock. “I'm not quite sure what you mean. Since when does anyone win or lose?” This is not a game or a race. It's just coffee; I'll only be gone for a couple of hours,”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes, to which John shook his head. The simple action of John closing his eyes meant that he was either annoyed or thinking. Sometimes John wished that there was a manual for living with Sherlock.

 

Sherlock, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing. As the day of the 'coffee date' approached Sherlock began making plans. There was a multitude of things that John didn't know about him and that night he was about to learn one of them.

 

John came downstairs later to discover that the kitchen table, which was usually cluttered with whatever experiment Sherlock was working on, had been cleared. John stood in the living room staring at the table. It had been cleared and set for supper. For one bizarre moment John entertained the idea that perhaps Sherlock was having company over.

 

“Sherlock?” John hoped it wasn't the other idea—Mycroft might have come in and decided that Sherlock wasn't eating enough. He'd done that sort of thing before and he'd become almost impossible afterwards.

 

Sherlock poked his head out of the kitchen, apron on with one of John's green oven mitts on his left hand. John blinked and squinted, was this for real? Was Sherlock actually cooking? And the more important question; was it edible. “John?”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. “Really John? Even for someone like you I thought that was obvious. I'm cooking dinner.”

 

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on. For some strange reason had that effect on him. “Okay...Well I'm going to meet Sara for coffee. See you tonight.” John shook his head as he slipped his feet into his shoes, threw his jacket over his arm and left the flat.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen. So the first experiment had failed, he would have to try better; he'd have to get John's attention back on him and away from Sarah. Of course, it had never occurred to Sherlock to just tell John how he felt.

 

Three days later, John came home exhausted from a particularly long day. He was almost certain that he'd come home to find the flat in shambles, or at least find Sherlock waist deep in whatever new and barely understandably experiment he was conducting. John had come to the conclusion that Sherlock was under the impression that no one would understand his experiments—and he loathed to explain them to anyone—even John. Watson mentally prepared himself for what he would find. What he hadn't expected was what greeted him. On the table there was tea, with a simple meat and vegetable dish. The lighting was low as to not disturb John if he had a headache, the fire in the fireplace was warm and inviting, keeping the room at a comfortable temperature and Sherlock was seated in his favourite chair playing soft music on his violin.

 

John was in shock, and for a few moments he just stood in the doorway, staring at Sherlock. He shook his head as if to clear it as he approached the other man carefully, as if at any moment he would start yelling (as John knew from experience that this could be a real threat). “Sherlock?”

 

The consulting detective opened his eyes but never stopped playing his instrument. He may have looked relaxed but in reality he was taking in his surroundings and John's body language. If this wasn't what John wanted, if this was too subtle there was only one other thing that Sherlock could think if but that was to be a last resort. Sherlock knew that once he took that step, there would be no denying it, no taking it back or pretending that there was nothing between them. He was hopeful it wouldn't come to that. “I think that you should just enjoy the quiet and eat your dinner.”

 

John removed his coat and sat at the prepared table. He eyed the meal suspiciously, he had only known Sherlock to cook a few times; and sometimes the concoctions that he came up with were....interesting. But as John ate, seeing that there was nothing wrong with the meal he realized that Sherlock could in fact cook. He ate in silence wondering what else Sherlock had been keeping a secret from him.

 

With supper finished and the table cleared, John sat near the fire place and watched the flames. He was still trying to figure out Sherlock's angle when the phone rang. John got the phone, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts. “Hello? Oh, hi Sara. No I'm not busy. Of course we can meet up for coffee. I'll be right there.”

 

Sherlock eyed John warily as the doctor got on his jacket and shoes.

 

John could feel him staring, the heat almost visible. “Sherlock? Are you okay?”

 

Sherlock smiled, he tried to make it reassuring and not creepy. “Of course I am. Go have your coffee.” He waved John off with a flick of his wrist. John shrugged and walked out of the flat. As soon as the door was closed, he set his violin on the table and headed down stairs to see Mrs. Hudson. As he stood Mrs. Hudson entered the room. Sherlock had been her tenant long enough that she knew when something wasn't right. She knew the minute that she entered the room that the situation was worse than she had originally thought, she had never seen him look so distraught.

 

“What's the matter dear?” For the first time since she had known him, Sherlock looked like he actually might break down.

 

He looked miserably around the room. “I don't understand. I thought everything was perfect and yet he'd still rather go out with Sara.

 

Mrs. Hudson placed her hand on his arm. “I think that the only thing that you can do is tell him how you feel.

 

Sherlock was staring off into the distance. “And what if I do that and he doesn't feel the same towards me? What do I do when I lose him forever because of this ridiculous need that I have recently developed?”

 

She patted his arm. “Sometimes that is just the risk we have to take.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

John couldn't figure out exactly what was wrong with Sherlock. The man seemed preoccupied, but in a way that John had never seen him before. It wasn't like when he was restless after not working for a while. It was more focused than that. He seemed so interested in what John was doing. John wanted to convince himself it was nothing but at the same time he was worried that Sherlock may have started using heroin again. He knew that if he wanted to know exactly what was going on he only had a couple of options—the most clear and most obvious being that he would have to call Mycroft. If there was something amiss with his friend Mycroft would know.

When John dialed the elder Holmes' number he was surprised to find that 1)Mycroft was home and 2) it was almost as if he'd been expecting John to call. “Hello. Mycroft?” John tried not to sound nervous.

“John Watson.” Mycroft sounded bored. “I'm assuming that you're calling about Sherlock.”

John sighed in relief. “So you've noticed it too? His weird behaviour?”

“I have noticed but I also don't think that it's anything to worry about.”

John tried to not let the irritation that he was feeling show as he spoke. “What if you're wrong?”

Mycroft almost laughed. “If there is one thing that I'm always fairly certain of it is my brother. I happen to know precisely what his problem is but I'm not at liberty to discuss it with you.”

John closed his eyes. The one person that he thought would help him, the only person that could help him with whatever was going on with Sherlock was flat-out refusing to help him. He could feel his eyes start to burn with his unshed tears of frustration. He took a deep breath, there was no way that he was going to allow himself to be reduced to tears. “Fine, then don't help me. I'll just have to deal with your brother all on my own. Thanks for not helping.”

Mycroft just smiled (not that John could see it but he could definitely hear it in his voice). “John, I really think that you don't have anything to worry about. That is why I am not helping you.”

John was angry at what Mycroft said that he hung up before another word could be exchanged. He stared at the phone in complete disgust, how could Mycroft be so cold towards his brother?

Sherlock, on the other hand had been listening to the entire conversation. Why was it so hard? What was so complicated about him letting John know that John was a very big part of his life. He sat down and waited. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before John came into the room. He quickly gathered his guts and his nerve, if he was going to do this, now would be the time.

John walked into the main sitting area. “Sherlock, I think that we need to talk.”

Sherlock just looked at John, index fingers steepled under his chin. “I quite agree.”

John sat across from Sherlock. When on the phone, he'd been absolutely certain of what he was going to say-- and now all of that seemed to be out the window. The silent moments that passed between them seemed tense.

The Consulting Detective put his hands in his lap. “I'll begin. I already knew that you think that I need an intervention.”

John eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How did you...”

Sherlock put up his hand to silence him. “Let me finish. I don't need one. It has come to my attention that lately you have been going on dates. I don't' understand the social convention behind it but that is your business. It has only recently begun to worry me when these dates became more frequent and with the same woman. I realized then that I could lose you and that I had not been paying enough attention to you. So I began to create, what I had hoped was a relaxing and home-like scenario so that you would see that you didn't need to seek outside company.”

John sat and just stared at Sherlock. “All of this was because you were afraid that I would leave? Sherlock, I...had no idea.” John was shocked that his flatmate would go through all that trouble just to keep him around.

Sherlock just shook his head, he knew that John would let his emotions get the best of him. “John, you are a constant in my life. I would like for it to stay that way. I have grown accustomed to seeing you. It would feel strange if you were not here.”

John smiled, it was a kind smile. “Sherlock, you have nothing to worry about. Me going on dates doesn't mean that I'm leaving. I just need outside company every once in awhile. I would not be able to imagine my life without you.”

Sherlock was processing everything that John had said, and when he finally had the courage he looked up from the patch of carpet that he had been staring at. “I love you, John Watson.” He held his breath as he waited for John's inevitable response.

John smiled widely. “You do?” At that point all Sherlock could do was nod. “I love you too.”

Sherlock smiled; it was the first real smile that Watson had seen on his face in a long time, perhaps ever.

Sherlock seemed to nod to himself, as he picked up his violin and began to play. There were so many things that John had wanted to ask but he knew that for the time being he would have to be content with the fact that he had Sherlock's heart and that his favourite Consulting Detective (not that he had met many or any since meeting Sherlock) was not high on drugs, but on love (as corny as that sounded). He let the music fill his heart and soul as he drifted off to sleep.

The End

 


End file.
